


love me mercilessly

by Anonymous



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Consensual Non-Consent, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Insecurity, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which Nino has a lot of fantasies, especially ones that make him feel insecure in a way he's never felt before.However, he has his four boyfriends for a reason.
Relationships: Aiba Masaki/Ninomiya Kazunari, Matsumoto Jun/Ninomiya Kazunari, Ninomiya Kazunari/Ohno Satoshi, Ninomiya Kazunari/Sakurai Sho
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	1. if i had my way with you

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: PLEASE, PLEASE heed the consensual non-consent and rape fantasy tag. It's not just a mention or a small scene in this fic, it's what the fic revolves around. It's in-depth and is pretty much the only "plot" in this, so if it's not your thing, please click away.  
> Mentioned kinks in the first chapter: bondage, gags, deepthroating, breathplay, painplay. No idea if they'll be included in the future chapters.  
> The CNC does not actually appear in the first chapter, but it is fantasized about. For like 2k words.  
> Title from everyone's favorite CNC song, Hatefuck by The Bravery.  
> I'm sorry.

It always lingers at the back of Nino’s mind.

Whether it be in the middle of recording Shiyagare or simply on his way to a nearby convenience store, it lurks, tugging at frayed ends to connect.

It irritates Nino to no end.

When he’s making a jab about Aiba’s noisiness in the green room, he thinks, quietly: Would Aiba pin him down on the floor and fuck him senseless in front of the others in retaliation, calling him humiliating names? Would Aiba hesitate, or would he put all his pent-up anger towards Nino in that moment? Would he be kind, filled with laughter or dark, domineering? Would Aiba even allow a moment of tenderness for him, or would Aiba grip onto Nino’s hair and push his face down into the cold floor, knowing fully well of their height difference and power balance?

In another thought, Aiba ties him up as usual — wrists bound behind his back, ankles tied to his thighs, Aiba’s favourite silver ball gag in Nino’s mouth.

Aiba teases and plays with Nino as usual, through flickering touches and unneeded kisses on his flushed skin. And when it’s all over, when Aiba’s come is inside of him and his own come is all over his stomach, he’d expect Aiba to unknot the rope, unclasp the gag — but this time, Aiba doesn’t.

He’d say, “You didn’t expect this, did you, Nino-chan?” with a grin, then pulls out his phone. He’d take photos from every angle, every distance, and then he’d get right up into Nino’s space, right above him and say darkly: “It’d be a shame if these leaked, you know? But I think you know how to shut me up.”

And then Aiba ends up fucking him senseless again, even through muffled pleads telling him that it hurts, that it's too much — then, when they’re both in a bathroom stall of some mall, Aiba would push Nino against the door, hand clamped over his mouth, grin once again, and say, “You’re going to let me have my way, right? There’s not much you can do when I still have all those photos with me.”

They’re nothing but “would,” and “what if.”

Nothing but disarrayed wishes that even Nino could feel shame about voicing loudly, feeling disgusted with himself — yet it still fucks with Nino’s mind way too much, especially considering how it’s not only Aiba he thinks of like this.

Sometimes, when he’s drinking with Ohno, he starts imagining what Ohno could do to him now that he was inebriated. While sober Ohno was all nods and tilts of a head, an intoxicated Ohno could be so much more. If they’re drinking at their houses, Ohno could easily manhandle Nino.

He could sprawl his hands all over Nino’s bare skin, touch seering hot as he forces a balled-up scarf into Nino’s mouth, not caring if he’s choking or coughing or trying to kick away from Ohno’s hands. It could be revenge for all the times Nino’s messed with him; Ohno could bring his hands up to Nino’s nipples and tweak them, over and over, for all the times Nino’s made an offhand remark about him.

He’d probably force Nino to shut up for once, punishing him for any noise he makes whether it be through three fingers inside of him or bites all over his thighs. Then, Ohno would fuck him, but wouldn't let him come, instead leaving Nino there with his weeping cock and tears down his cheeks.

In another scenario, it would be if Nino were at Sho’s house, reading scripts and hanging out in each other’s presence — even if Sho would never reach this point in depravity.

For every line Nino stutters on or gets wrong, Sho would get restless, little by little.

He’d mumble things like, “Stop wasting my time,” when Nino fucks up the script once again, and when Nino tries again, Sho would have had enough and force Nino down onto his knees.

While normal Sho was a dick when horny, this fantasy version of Sho would be even more despicable; he’d force his cock down Nino’s throat, his hands — more masculine, more forceful — holding down Nino’s head to his pelvis. Nino could be crying, begging and choking around Sho’s cock, but he wouldn’t stop, not until Nino made up for the time he wasted with Sho — and even then, Sho wouldn’t stop. He’d fuck Nino’s face freely, cooing sardonically in his face about how no one would ever believe that the prestigious Sakurai Sho was doing this to him if he ever blabbered to anyone.

And he’s absolutely fucking right, because Sho could use him in any way he wanted, and Nino wouldn’t have a problem with it.

Then… there’s Jun.

It’s no secret Jun’s a sexual deviant with a lot of strange things in his drawers. Aside from Sho or Ohno, Nino’s almost always been on the receiving end for whatever new bondage gear Jun’s bought or the new collar that he’d eventually make Nino wear. It only adds onto the experience. Nino would be on Jun’s bed, all tied and decorated with pretty rope or silver tape, completely unable to move around.

It will always start off as their normal type of intercourse, with Jun’s different assortment of toys that he’d use on Nino — and then, Jun would take out one of the toys Nino had explicitly denied Jun from using on him, and look at him with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

He’d blabber, “Stop, please, don’t you fucking dare,” along with their safe word, “PS3, seriously Jun-kun, stop,” with his heart caught in his throat.

And Jun wouldn’t listen. He’d hit the paddle against the side of Nino’s ass, leaving Nino to howl his name, their safe word, over and over, begging him to stop — but Jun wouldn’t listen.

If he was getting annoyed enough, he’d press tape over Nino’s lips and lower jaw, then have his way with Nino’s body — because Nino can’t do anything to stop him, anyways. He’d fuck into Nino at his own pace, hard and rough enough for Nino to scream and plead him to stop through the tape.

Jun would move his hands up, trailing over pale skin, and wrap his fingers around the bare expanse of Nino’s throat and squeeze down, even when Nino starts trying to hack through the tape and inhale. He’d pull back at the exact moment Nino starts turning dizzy, then repeat once Nino’s gotten back in control. Jun would cycle through his palm leaving red marks on Nino’s ass and his hand on Nino’s throat, pressing down.

Even if Jun isn’t stupid enough to break etiquette, even if Ohno would never have any ill intent to harm him, even if Aiba is ridiculously perverse and refers to himself as a Do-H, even if Sho wouldn’t even dare to think of doing anything like that to Nino —

— it doesn’t stop the lingering thought in his head.

*

He’s never been the type to open up about his large, undeniable kink for consent unlike all the other people online who seem to have no hesitation about it.

It’s not like he can’t orgasm without it, or anything — he just wants to experience it, wants to live out all the sick scenarios forming in his mind, with Jun, Aiba, Sho and Ohno.

Even if Jun was the one with the highest sex drive, the one with more sexual experience, Nino knew there’d be no way Jun would look at him willingly and agree to it all. That’s what Nino gets for sleeping with a perfectionist with morals, he supposes.

He can’t blame Jun for being uncomfortable with it, anyways.

Aiba, on the other hand, could be into it, but he’d try too hard to get into character or just straight up decline on the pretense on how he loved Nino too much to actually think of doing anything like it. Nino loved Aiba, too, but there were sides of himself Nino couldn’t show anyone, whether it be his boyfriends or best friends.

Sho would take it the worst, probably.

He’d go wide-eyed and retch, then end up distancing himself from Nino and then end up causing the biggest shift in all their relationships which would then lead to everyone else’s relationships fucking up, and all the blame would go on Nino — but that’s okay, he thinks; he’s used to being bullied and disliked anyways.

He doesn’t know much about how Ohno would feel about it, though.

Nino never really found himself having an in-depth conversation over kink with Ohno, but he supposes it’d end up failing someway or another as any time their conversation reaches dangerous territory, Ohno would shut Nino up with a kiss and it’d go down from there.

Maybe, Ohno would hate it. He’d stare at Nino in disbelief, right above him with Nino pinned below him. He’d get up, pull his shirt back on and leave wordlessly, leaving Nino on the couch with his hard-on untouched and a disgusting feeling in his heart.

The kind of feeling that makes Nino feel sick to his stomach, the kind that makes Nino dizzy and wishing he were anyone but himself for once in his life.

That one singular scenario clings to his memories, and throughout the day, his mind unwillingly adds more salt into the wound.

For each time Nino would grope Ohno for fun in the green room, he’d think of how Ohno would try to shy away from his touch and avoid sharing eye contact. For each moment he’d croon, “Oh-chan,” Ohno would huff and turn away, almost as if he were saying Nino didn’t have the right to call him that anymore. For each moment Nino would lean in and try to kiss Ohno — he’d have Ohno press his palm against his chest and push him away.

It’s the scary part about Ohno, Nino realises. It’s the fact that Ohno could find so, so many ways to break him without using words or insults, even when Nino’s done his best to never let things like that harm him.

But Ohno — he could break Nino down with a side glance, a flinch away from Nino’s touch. He has all that power over Nino, accumulated from years of pining over him longer than Nino has for anyone else in the group. He can shatter Nino into little pieces, tinier and tinier, without even having to open his mouth.

And he could piece Nino back together, bit by bit, and then shatter him once more.

Maybe that’s why he wants Ohno to take advantage of him so badly.

*

Three days of no work, no dramas, no planning. Of course, everyone uses the first few days for their own personal business, especially Ohno, who somehow disappeared for two days straight and came back smelling like cobia, pretty much ruining Nino's plan for a three-day long marathon sex event with Ohno (and the others, but they seemed too busy).

But Ohno's here now, at Nino's place, on the couch, jerking off.

“What’s the mood for today?” Nino asks, palming himself through his sweats.

He’s got his laptop on the coffee table, scrolling mindlessly through the selection of porn videos the site had to offer — something about getting sick of seeing the same girl over and over.

It takes a few seconds before he gets an answer, like Ohno’s thinking about it carefully. Then, softly: “Can we watch something without girls?”

“Huh. Okay.”

Ohno’s usually never been the type to stray away from having at least one pair of tits on screen. Nino tries not to think about it too much as he nods and navigates to another site, this one more specifically catered to gay/bisexual men.

The first page shows a lot of… macho, beefy men to say the least. Ohno’s brows furrow and his lips curl downwards very slightly, so Nino blacklists the Hunk tag and refreshes the search results. It weeds most of it out, leaving thumbnails of lanky men either being screwed doggy-style or a close-up of them masturbating. Ohno seems to have found something of interest, however.

“That one,” he says, pointing towards the thumbnail. It’s about twenty minutes long and one of the guys in the thumbnail resembles Jun just a teensy bit from the time he was tanned. “Play that one.”

“Yes, yes, Leader,” Nino drawls, clicking on the link. It doesn’t have an official title, just a combination of letters, numbers and a hyphen, so Nino bookmarks it just so they can find it again later if they liked it.

As the video begins to play, Nino pulls his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs. Ohno’s had himself in his hand for pretty much the entire night, much to Nino’s amazement; his stamina was as endless as a black hole.

The video starts out with a young salaryman, maybe mid-twenties, walking around the corner. Not even five seconds in, Nino’s mind begins to wander and pray this porn isn’t boring enough for his erection to wilt — then, then, oh. A white car appears, and the guy who vaguely resembles Jun gets out of the driver seat.

It’s all of a sudden; the Jun-clone gets behind the guy, pressing something into his mouth, using his arms to lock his limbs together and forcing him into the back of the car — Nino’s dick is so, so hard and it’s ridiculous because it’s so, so close to one of his fantasies.

On instinct, he glances to Ohno’s side, feeling his breathing turn fast. Ohno’s never been the type to outright express himself like Jun or Aiba did, but Nino can gather the tiniest details: the way Ohno’s lips part, cheeks slightly flushing, hand on his dick working faster on the head.

Ohno doesn’t hide the gasp he makes when the scene changes and the guy is strapped to a bed, naked, and the Jun-clone gets up and close and starts degrading the guy in bed while stroking him.

Nino feels like his head is filled with lava.

“Oh-chan, Oh-chan,” he says shakily, turning around and trying to manoeuvre himself on top of Ohno’s body.

“Is this what you like?” he asks, shuddering as Nino sees Jun-clone starts forcing his dick down the guy’s throat, grin almost sadistic. Below him, Ohno nods and wraps his hand around both of their erections.

Even through Nino’s high-pitched moan as Ohno starts moving his hand, he hears Ohno say, “Don’t you like it, too?”

Nino gasps, nodding furiously as he digs his face into Ohno’s neck to kiss and lick — but never bite, never suck. His ears feel like they’re buzzing, and he knows he’s absolutely bright-red.

The Jun-clone in the video starts finger-fucking the guy while simultaneously trying to continue fucking the guys face. Ohno’s never been the type to be loud during sex, but when the guy starts begging the Jun-clone to stop in a voice way too similar to the one Nino uses when he’s begging for release, he hears a low, gutteral groan from Ohno’s lips.

It’s all he needs before his breath hitches and he comes right between them, feeling it splatter against his stomach and Ohno’s own.

This time, Ohno takes initiative and pushes Nino down onto the couch, reversing their positions. Nino feels absolutely euphoric knowing that Ohno, out of everyone, wouldn’t hate him for this, wouldn’t despise him for this — but knows how it feels, knows how it gnaws at Nino daily, hourly, every fucking second.

“We can talk about it later,” Ohno mumbles as he squirts lube onto his cock. There’s a hint of promise in his tone and a glimmer in his eyes that has Nino’s heart caught in his throat. “Not now, though.”

Nino laughs breathlessly and raises his legs to his chest, letting Ohno hook them against his shoulders. The video has long ended, but Nino uses a hand to quickly rewind the video to the moment the Jun-clone starts fucking the guy for real, the apartment filling with artificial moans that sounds too much like him.

When he looks back up at Ohno, his eyes are dark, dark enough as if he were watching a catastrophe happen underneath him.

It only excites Nino even more for next time.

He can’t stop the way he moans, “Oh-chan,” as Ohno pushes into him — he hasn’t slept with anyone for a few weeks and counting, so Ohno must’ve not expected the sudden tightness, teeth latching onto his lower lip as he bottoms out. Nino feels so, so fucking satiated, so full.

“You like my surprise?” he manages to say airily, even if he’s completely bullshitting and this was never a surprise in the first place, but rather a period of time where he felt too sick of himself, his fantasies to let anyone sleep with him. But it's easier to lie than say the truth, Nino has learnt all these years.

Ohno nods, beginning to thrust slowly. “Like when you were a virgin.”

The sudden memory imprints itself on Nino; their first time, Nino sixteen and Ohno eighteen, in some shabby love hotel that hadn’t recognised them when they asked for a room. Ohno had done it before, has had the professionalism and knew the ropes while Nino was squirming in anxiety, never touched by another man before. It’s quite a blurry memory, but it’s still there, nonetheless.

Then, he has an idea.

“If you were able to, you could’ve taken advantage of my innocence back then,” he says after a gasp when Ohno rolls his hips.

There’s an obvious stutter from Ohno’s body when he says those words, so he continues, trying to keep his voice coherent as Ohno fucks into him. “You’d tell me that I’d wasn’t perfect like I always boasted, you’d tell me I was missing one skill. Then, then you’d use that moment to tell me that if I don’t know how to suck cock, I wouldn’t be perfect.”

“In some closet, you’d teach me, get me on my knees and tell me to open my mouth. Tell me that only the best of the best could take your cock entirely, to the point their nose would be deep in hair. You’d tell me to do that.”

Ohno suddenly slams into him, earning a squeal from Nino's lips. There’s obvious perspiration running down Ohno’s body, and if he weren’t so tanned from fishing right now, he’d be bright red, just like Nino.

Unyielding, he continues. “Once I’d get on my knees, all wide-eyed and telling you that it won’t fit in my mouth, that I’m scared — you’d grab me by the hair and force my mouth down on your cock, even when I’m trying to pull away.”

“Then, you’d tell me good boys swallow, good boys don’t complain about the taste—” Nino is suddenly surged up into the couch, Ohno’s pace quickening.

These are the rare moments where Ohno uses all his pent-up energy, these are the rare moment Ohno fucks him hard enough for him to go mindless.

But he isn’t finished just yet. Through moans and squeals and gasps and mewls, Nino wraps his arms around Ohno’s neck and pulls him down. Close enough that his mouth’s right besides his ear, close enough for him to whisper the final words.

“You could tell Sho-chan, too, and Aiba and Jun. Lie to me and say the perfect boys could suck cock and be fucked at the same time and let them use me. Even if I was begging you to stop Aiba from forcing his cock down my small mouth, even if I was crying that Sho-chan couldn’t possibly fit inside me, even if I was whining that Jun was hurting my body with his touch — you wouldn’t care, you’d watch, watch, watch as they used me.”

Several hard thrusts has Nino wondering if he could even walk later, but soon enough, Ohno’s mouth parts and he grunts and Nino feels a familiar warmth inside of him.

Then, Ohno rearranges Nino’s legs back down and pulls out, collapsing on top of Nino.

They’re both breathless and sticky, but that’s okay, Nino realises. Tonight, he think, might be one of the most memorial moments of his life — fuck the day they debuted on a ship, fuck the first time he got a fan letter, fuck the day everyone forgot to give him a gift on his birthday — this one, by far, is one of the memories that’ll last for a lifetime.

There’s no way two grown men could fit onto one side of the couch, but Nino laughs breathlessly and runs his hand through Ohno’s sweat-soaked hair as he relishes in the feeling of sticky skin and body warmth.

“I didn’t realise that was all I had to do to make you a monster in bed,” he quips. Nino doesn’t hate it when Ohno goes slow, but he doesn’t hate it when Ohno starts using all his energy into it either.

“Filthy mouth,” is all Ohno says before his hand lingers down. He hooks a finger into Nino’s ass, earning a surprised curse from Nino, then pushes two fingers inside. Ohno presses a kiss to Nino’s collarbone, and all of a sudden, Nino feels so, so trapped beneath him.

Ohno’s fingers play with the come inside him, not so secretly pressing against Nino’s prostate that has Nino biting his lower lip to keep his mouth shut. He's so, so glad Ohno doesn't have the energy to look for the vibrator in Nino's room.

Nino throws his head back when Ohno starts sucking on a nipple and curls his fingers. “Oh-chan, I can’t—”

“You can.”

In the end, Nino comes three times: the second from Ohno’s insistent fingers and talented mouth, and the third from Ohno jerking him off mercilessly, whispering hotly in his ear: “It wouldn’t be just Sho-kun, you know. It’d be Sho-kun and Aiba-kun, I’d let them try and fuck you at the same time. After all, that’s only a feat the cream of the crop can do, right?”

The next morning, Nino tries to hide how sore his body is while he’s hanging out with Aiba and Jun. It doesn’t seem to work, considering how Jun narrows his eyes and Aiba tilts his head curiously like a puppy, awaiting an answer without asking a question.

“Blame Oh-chan,” is all Nino says, then he’s bombarded by hundreds of questions from Aiba on how he got Ohno to be rougher than usual and a harder, suspicious glare from Jun.

Nino tries to push back the thoughts of how that glare would look if Jun were having his way with him, Jun coming in his mouth. He tries to push them far, far away when his mind supplies vivid imagery of Nino spitting out Jun's come on the floor, and Jun would glare at him from above, then sneer.

When he looks back down at his legs, he realises it's not only the limp he has to hide right now.

*


	2. and there will be no tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, and my only excuse is other fics I've been working on. I only belatedly remembered this fic existed when I saw the file in some random folder. Sat down, wrote most of this in one go, so I'm pretty sure my fingers will never go near a keyboard ever again.  
> Once again, CNC does not happen here either, but something else does. My apologies.  
> Any mistakes are mine and mine only. I mean, who'd beta something like this in the first place LMAO  
> Edit 02/05/20: Fixed most of the mistakes I left.

Nino’s showers were quick and usually consisted of shampoo, conditioner and scrubbing his body with soap, and sometimes, jerking off due to morning wood, or an occasional wet dream.

Emphasis on occasional, because now, they’re happening pretty fucking often to go way past occasional.

It doesn’t help his dream that morning hadn’t revolved around Ohno and their possible, soon-to-happen paradoxical consensual non-consensual fantasies that Nino could easily jerk off to with no problem — but it had to be with Jun, of all fucking people, it had to be him, not the nutty Aiba who he could’ve called over for a quickie, not Ohno who he could’ve spent an hour talking dirty to on the phone while he was probably picking his nose.

It had to be the one guy who’d lecture him about proper safeword use, about how leaving someone gagged and tied up alone was dangerous, about how someone could take advantage of Nino’s kink and use it against him if he ever voiced it out. Even if Jun was okay with hitting every part of Ohno until he was red while they fucked, there was no way Nino would ever be able to make his dreams come true with someone who had a stick up his ass — not literally — when it came to sex.

Nino squeezes his eyes shut, pressing all his weight against his arm on the shower wall. His other hand, furious on his cock, with nothing but the remnants of what he could remember from the dream.

Nino would be Nino, all black-hearted insults and irritating comments. He’d find a way to rile Jun up that he’d fuck Nino right at the genkan, manhandling him onto his knees even when Nino manages to choke out, “Wait — Jun, stop, for real, not here,” but Jun wouldn’t listen.

He’d always been an arrogant sort.

Jun would tie Nino’s belt around his elbows, use the scarves Nino’s amassed to tie his wrists. He’s always had pretty hands, and Nino loves seeing them work on knots as he tied him or Sho up — and they’d be so much prettier down his throat with Jun screwing him from behind.

When he thinks of the feeling of Jun’s come inside him, where Jun would then stick his fingers at the back of his tongue to silence Nino's complaints, he paints stripes against the bathroom tiles with his eyes shut tight.

He opens his eyes and ignores the way his gut wrenches, the way the guilt piles up from all the other times he’s been in this scenario. 

There’s no trace of his release on the tiles, already washed away, so no one could’ve known this is what Nino does to come quickly, this is what fucked up shit Nino is into. Even if Aiba likes to jokingly call him Arashi’s token whore, it doesn’t even come close to how dizzyingly sick of himself he feels as he turns the shower off.

He tries to avoid staring too much at his body as he dries himself off. It’s a small habit he’s learnt works for himself — he can’t feel even worse about himself if he doesn’t look at his softening dick, the only proof of Nino and his wretchedness. He dresses himself and tries not to think too hard about how Jun would force him to undress, painfully slow, or else he’d do something Nino would absolutely despise if he didn’t. He manages, after all, he’s done nothing but manage and try his best to ignore it.

Nino’s schedule for the next few days goes like this: Ninosan meeting, Baystorm recording, various other events and somewhere in there is eating out at whatever restaurant Aiba has in mind together, then hopefully staying the night at Aiba’s unless something else came up.

And maybe something more on the side if he was lucky.

*

Turns out, he was lucky. Very lucky. Jackpot level lucky.

“Aren’t you excited,” Aiba grins, craning his neck to let Nino kiss and nibble — never bite, never suck, though. Shame, considering how Aiba’s body would look way prettier with even more marks to go along with his birthmark.

They’re still in the entrance of Aiba’s apartment; while the recording and meal had gone swimmingly, the drive back home in Aiba’s car wasn’t, on the count of how Aiba felt daring enough to do something Nino would’ve berated him for, if it weren’t for the fact Nino felt equally daring. The exact moment Aiba had locked the door behind him, Nino, with all his mediocre strength, pressed Aiba against the wall and dug his face into Aiba’s neck.

Nino leaves a kiss on Aiba’s jaw. And another. “Says the one who was trying to jerk me off in the car,” he counters, then kisses Aiba’s lips to shut him up before he can even say anything back.

Nino’s never been the strongest, nor has he been stronger than Aiba, who’s much, much taller. It doesn’t take long before they pull away and Aiba switches their position, his hands reaching down to grope Nino’s ass through his jeans and muffling his whine with his mouth.

Eventually, Aiba hoists Nino up, princess style — one of Nino’s favourite things about Aiba, and one of the biggest factors in his not-so-normal fantasies — and they relocate to Aiba’s bed. Aiba drops him onto bed with care, then he’s back on top of Nino, kissing soft lips and swallowing moans.

Kissing Aiba is always fun. Nino’s sure Aiba’s kissed many before, and he’s definitely sure Aiba’s done more with others aside from him before, but Nino’s glad Aiba was his first kiss, even if it was accidental at the time. Now, every kiss to Nino’s collarbones, every kiss to the corners of Nino’s lips — they aren’t accidental, they’re a kiss to show how much Aiba loves him, how much Aiba treasures him.

While Sho kisses him roughly, sharing breaths and only pulling away once he was sure Nino was kissed ’til he felt high on Sho, Aiba kisses him like how honey drips, like Nino’s some sort of candy he can’t stop reaching for. Every curl of his tongue, every time he feels teeth on his lower lips, it’s all done with a purpose to make Nino feel loved, appreciated. Throughout the years, Nino could document every type of kiss Aiba’s given him. 

But that’s for later, Nino tells himself, running his hand under Aiba’s shirt, trailing toned skin. Above, Aiba gasps at the touch, his expression morphing into pleasure, and oh, Nino thinks he hasn’t seen Aiba prettier than in these moments they have together.

He figures he must’ve been staring too long; Aiba smiles at him, too sweet for someone who calls himself a sadist, then laughs airily. 

“Way to ruin the mood,” Nino says, but there’s no venom in his voice. He wonders if he’s smiling, too.

“Oh, really? Then what about this?” Aiba rebuts wonderingly, hand moving down Nino’s body, reaching to squeeze at Nino’s hardening cock through denim. On instinct, Nino keens and arches his back into Aiba’s palms, but Aiba pulls back with another airy laugh.

In annoyance, Nino whines, “I hate you,” as Aiba leans over to rummage through the drawers by the bed. Nino blows the fabric away from his face, earning a giggle from Aiba.

Aiba pulls back once more, slotting himself right between Nino’s legs. He smiles and pulls off his shirt, revealing skin Nino oh-so-desperately wants to get his hands all over and kiss every inch. In his hands, however, is a bullet vibrator with a remote and two pairs of leather-padded handcuffs.

“You love me, don’t lie,” Aiba says in a low tone, the kind that makes Nino shiver. “Now, where were we?”

*

“You…” Nino pants, his own voice taut. He feels like his entire body’s been locked in a sauna for hours. He lightly kicks at Aiba’s thigh. “You and Oh-chan… God, you two are the worst. I hate you two.”

He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to come for the next year or so. Three fucking orgasms was what it took to satisfy Aiba. The first one untouched, with nothing but Aiba’s lips on his skin and the vibrator in him buzzing at an insistent pace. The second one by Aiba’s mouth on his dick, with the vibrator at a higher speed than last time, leaving Nino’s words incomprehensible aside from the occasional moments he screamed, “Masaki!” when it was too much.

By the third, Aiba finally fucks him, one leg over Aiba’s chest — hooray, but not hooray, because he’s definitely sure that if someone else tries to wrangle three orgasms from him in a row once more — looking at Jun, Aiba and Ohno specifically — he’s going to end up abstaining from sex for the next few years. And prohibiting said trio from going near his dick ever again.

Aiba pouts, rubbing at the spot Nino had kicked. “That’s not how you treat your boyfriends.”

“My favourite boyfriends, not my least favourite.”

“I really should’ve gagged you today, huh?”

Nino smiles inconspicuously. He feels absolutely spent, but the soreness in his joints are something he’s comfortable with. “Just uncuff me already, Aiba-chan.”

A beat passes. Aiba’s still on top of him, arms on either sides of Nino’s body.

“And if I don’t want to?” Aiba states.

The air tenses as Aiba’s eyes go dark. Something shifts, and Nino doesn’t know what it is, and he’s sort of scared and a little turned on — and he doesn’t want to be turned on for once.

Aiba continues. “Who says you can tell me what I get to do with you? Can you even do anything about it when you look like this?”

He shudders, biting on his lower lip, the memories of all his fantasies spiraling in him. He can think of so, so many scenarios that could lead up from this point, especially ones Aiba would truly loathe.

Instead, Nino says, “A bad boy persona doesn’t really suit you, you know,” and grins, trying to hide how loud his own heartbeat is to his own ears.

A beat. His heartbeat is nothing more but a staccato thump to his ears.

Then: “It does!” Aiba snaps back, laughing, shifting back into his incomprehensible self, all airheaded-ness and joy returning.

Nino’s still trying to think what the fuck happened; Aiba’s never been the type who’d go dark out of nowhere, unlike Jun — yet Aiba’s unlocking the handcuffs, tenderly kissing each wrist several times, like Aiba wasn’t trying to make him scream until his throat was wrecked.

It scares him a lot, he realises. That Aiba’s happy-go-lucky personality could hide something like this.

But right now, Aiba is nothing but sugar and honey: he holds Nino’s exhausted body close and helps him to the bathroom, ushering him into the shower. Aiba washes his hair with gentleness and care, making sure not to dig his fingers in too hard, then asks him where it hurts as Nino dresses himself in Aiba’s clothes (Nino: “...hey, don’t the band of these boxers say my name?”). Even if his joints are aching and his wrists hurt a little more than usual, Aiba brings him to the couch and holds Nino close to him, close enough for Nino to feel his breathing synchronise with Aiba’s.

The TV plays some brand-new flowery rom-com drama, with a cast of actors they barely know for once, and he can feel the way Aiba giggles a little too himself at the humourous parts, all too soft and filled with a curled smile.

It’s amazing how Aiba could switch so easily. Maybe, it’s the hard work from all the dramas he’s been in as the lead, or maybe, just maybe, Aiba’s always had a darker side to his bubbly self.

He’s halfway from falling asleep against Aiba’s chest when Aiba stirs a little, shimmying in place. Nino looks up to frown at him, trying his best not to spend too much time thinking about how pretty Aiba truly is.

“I was sleeping,” Nino mumbles, losing his bite mid-sentence. He feels spent.

“That’s what Leader always says when someone calls him in the middle of it,” Aiba answers back, obviously reminiscing a fond, fond memory. Only fond for him, though. Not so fond for Nino.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh-chan is just weird. Don’t listen to him.”

Aiba sort of deflates, like a disappointed, animatic balloon animal—if he’s started thinking like that, it’s a clear sign he needs to lessen his time with Aiba. “Ah, then you really don’t like the forceful kind of thing? I was hoping it’d work earlier, but I guess it didn’t.” 

Nino stills, mind still focusing on the concept of balloon animals brought to life. Wait, what?

“I can’t believe Leader lied to me, y’know. Leader! Of all people!” Aiba whines, like the idea of Ohno making up a white lie was something completely unbelievable. Clearly, Aiba hasn’t seen what Nino can do — but that’s besides the point, because Aiba just said something that shouldn’t have happened, shouldn’t have been given as a fucking chance to someone like him.

If he were a gadget, Nino would feel like 100% of his RAM is being used by Aiba’s words. He blinks once, twice to make sure he’s genuinely hearing what Aiba’s saying, then thrice to make sure he wasn’t going to need antipsychotic meds for hallucinations. Something about Leader blabbing — oh, he was going to fucking hunt that tiny man down. Then he purses his lips, realising Ohno might’ve had good intentions. 

Still. He was going to throttle Ohno, and not in a kink way.

“As in when you said ‘And if I don’t want to?’ and I called you uncool?” he tries in disbelief. There was no way the universe was going to be this kind to his fucked up self, to let coincides keep happening, to let things work in his favour.

“Mm, yeah, pretty much,” Aiba says back, nonchalant.

Aiba leans over Nino’s body to reach for the bowl of biscuits on the coffee table, and definitely not for the first time, Nino starts thinking of how Aiba could loom over him perfectly. “I didn’t know if he was saying the truth, so I didn’t wanna freak you out with something — I dunno, extreme? Like, of course I trust Leader a lot but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, y’know?”

In video games, this is where a multi-choice interface appears, with a jeering jingle accompanying a countdown. This is the part where the chaos theory comes in, and he’ll spend hours getting every ending possible, then reload from the various slots neatly organised in a way only Nino would understand.

But he doesn’t have the power to reload save files or delete data. Nino chooses.

“Leader wasn’t lying,” Nino says quietly, feeling himself shrink. Dear god, was this how Jun felt about his bondage shit back when they were younger? He has empathy for him now.

“Eh?” is all Aiba says, more in curiosity rather than disgust. There’s a moment where they don’t say anything else, the lull of the drama’s end credits filling the apartment. 

Aiba reaches for another biscuit, a cat one. “That’s good for us, right?” he adds on, breaking the silence. He holds the biscuit up to Nino’s face.

Nino leans his head forward and nips the biscuit from Aiba’s fingers. He smiles, satiated, as he chews on the biscuit, trying to ignore how a regular Aiba would make a comment about how Nino was mercilessly eating a biscuit cat, feeling like another weight has been lifted from his body, and a warm, honey-like feeling settles in him to replace it.

He settles for something clean and concise. “Good. Very good.”

Aiba cheerfully lets him nip an anteater-shaped biscuit from his fingers this time.

*

Now, he has knowledge both Aiba and Ohno are in the same boat as him — yet he’s unsure of their self-esteem about it; Aiba enjoys it and doesn’t hesitate to say so, but Ohno’s a little quiet about it, tends to look away — although that might just be the regular Ohno and Nino is just over-thinking everything as his brain starts blaring alarms.

Nino has been over-thinking a lot lately. He blames those two specifically for giving into more materials for crude fantasies that could come to life with a few words of negotiation and planning. Fuck them, seriously. Literally and figuratively.

They don’t have time to properly plan anything out, though. Aiba’s schedule is swarmed with CMs, his own variety show and whatever that man does in his spare time aside from giving surprise-head in the dressing room. Ohno is… Ohno. There’s not much to say other than that.

But to make up for it, Nino spends his time with Jun and Sho more. Occasionally, Aiba’ll text him while he’s watching Jun paint his toenails a very specific shade of pearl black berry, and Nino will have to deal with the aftermath of trying not to get hard at the exclamation-ridden scenarios Aiba seems to come up with in the greenroom. There was no plausible, logical explanation for Nino to get horny over Jun painting his toenails — unless one of his boyfriends (boyfriends! it feels strange to use the word lately) had some sort of secret, scandalous foot fetish. At least they could both bond over their niche little kinks.

Ohno isn’t any better than Aiba, if he’s perfectly honest. While Nino usually understands where Ohno tends to flow and go, it doesn’t mean Nino can stop him. Not when Ohno won’t stop sending him links to certain videos on porn sites, especially while Sho was right next to him, cuddling him. By Ohno’s seventh message, Nino has memorised every page by its URL and understands when not to click on it. It doesn’t mean he isn’t saving those links for later, though.

And when they team up?

Nino feels like he’s stuck in between a never-ending loop of Aiba’s teasing laughter and cologne as he wrapped his arm around Nino’s shoulders and Ohno’s rough hands discreetly trailing up Nino’s ribs and back in dressing rooms. They make him feel like he’s a teenager again, all gangly limbs crouched and awkward answers as if he were still a Jr., skirting around the gazes of their co-workers and staff as they held hands and held… other things.

However, Jun and Sho drags him out of their illusion, with heated not-so-secret makeout sessions at each other’s apartments and marks decorated on every inch of his body from the neck down. With them, Nino doesn’t get to make snarky comments as he’s getting fucked or hiss “Fuck you,” when they don’t let him come. It’s a perfect match, like two halves of a whole.

Jun, with all his ambitions and stubbornness, would always find a way to pull Nino apart, until there is nothing left but docility and a pliant body for him to play with. He’s one of the very few people Nino has met who can break past Nino’s scathing vitriol and get Nino mindless enough to even forget what insult would be rolling off his tongue with just a roll of his hips or a flick of a wrist. It’s exhilarating being with Jun: he will always, always find a way to gain control himself. 

Over the years, Jun had went from the boy that was mostly submissive and shy in bed to whatever the fuck he is now. From the sparkly-eyed guy who trailed after Ohno and Sho with a goofy smile to the much more mature smartass that probably had thousands of panties (and boxers, including Nino’s) dropping every time he went shirtless. Nino doesn’t mind, even if he misses topping Jun regularly.

And Sho — it’s a miracle he hasn’t been spotted with a hard-on in public yet, not when Sho’s body looked so fucking good above him and beneath him. Nino wasn’t lying when he moved Sho up from second place to first place in his “Who would you date from Arashi if you were a woman?” ranking.

He knew he had the charm, the muscles, the piercing that were the subject of younger Nino’s many, many dreams. His kind smile did nothing to hide the conniving gleam in his eyes as he intentionally twisted on set to show off his ass, posted pictures of him flexing on social media and glanced over at Nino while he would be rapping into a microphone. Everything the man did made his knees weak, and Sho absolutely knew it.

Unlike Aiba and Ohno’s playfulness and laughter, they’re a storm, so overwhelmingly so, but Nino loves it for a reason.

So it’s a little unnerving it isn’t Jun and Sho who find out first; it had to be Ohno and Aiba, the airheads of the group, the two who could barely hold a proper conversation when they were younger. It’s a secret Nino wants to lock away at his heart with padlocks and keep it there even after he dies — yet Aiba and Ohno’s managed to unravel it from him, coerce Nino into subconsciously giving it to them.

Sighing, Nino watches from the safety of his seat as Ohno enters the room while sipping on a straw peacefully. A straw that belonged to the milk tea Nino had seen Aiba drinking a handful of minutes ago — then he notices the way Aiba stumbles into the room, red from the neck up, zipper still open, his hair astray and grinning like a dumbass.

From Jun’s spot in front of a mirror, Nino can spot his reflection frowning. “Really? Right before recording?” he asks in disappointment, as if he weren’t on the receiving end of many, many rushed encounters before and after concerts and more.

Ohno shrugs, curling up on the couch with the straw hanging off his lips as Aiba giggles and strides towards Nino.

There’s no one else he trusts more to make him feel less insecure, less disgusted by his existence other than his two favourite idiots.

*

“You’ve been in a good mood lately,” Jun comments, as if he weren’t jerking Nino off a few seconds ago. He doesn’t show any interest in mentioning how Nino’s hissing and arching his hips. “New game release this month?”

Wrong. I’m totally going to get my brains screwed out by your boyfriends eventually.

“No,” Nino tries to spit back, but his voice falters and it comes out as a plea of some sort. Jun and his damned hands, too fucking talented to be true. “And no, I did not indulge myself in feelings of schadenfreude either — fuckfuckfuckyou.”

Jun’s gone back to stroking, this time slow but with a tighter grip. He hums, curious, resting his chin against Nino’s shoulders. Jun doesn’t hide his laugh when Nino flinches.

“Still coherent enough to use big words, huh?” he says, as if Nino’s extensive vocabulary hadn’t only been learnt to spite Ohno’s limited one.

“If you wanted me to — ah, please just — dumb-ify what I say, you should’ve said so,” Nino says, letting a grin show on his face before he gasps. 

Jun pinches the head of his cock for that, and Nino chokes on a moan. “Aiba and Ohno’s been gathering your attention more lately,” he says. “Forgetting about me and Sho-san already? I’m shocked.”

As Jun resumes stroking languidly, Nino manages to grit out, “Yeah, we’re all having hot threesomes at my place without you. Gags, cuffs, whips and all types of kink. Jealous?”

Partly a lie, partly a truth. The threesome would come later and there was definitely a certain type of kink. With Aiba’s help, Nino knew he’d tell Jun and Sho one day, but that day was not today.

“No.” Jun’s head shifts to kiss at Nino’s neck, his other arm holding Nino’s body flushed against Jun’s chest for Nino to even wiggle out. His pace suddenly shifts, jerking Nino’s cock hard and fast.

Over the sound of Nino’s curses, Jun says, “I just don’t appreciate being excluded.”

Jun doesn’t let him come that time, but Aiba and Ohno’s always there for him.

*

He and Ohno find time to talk about it in person when Ohno comes over once again.

Admittedly, Nino’s original plan was for Aiba to be here as well, but some mishaps with Aiba’s tendency to misread numbers on his schedule had Aiba bailing on them. It’s better than nothing, Nino had mused as he readied Ohno’s favourite house slippers at the genkan and set Aiba’s aside on the rack.

Ohno deemed it was important they got takeout ramen before any negotiation, and Nino had only agreed because Ohno was paying. After a bowl of ramen, awkward fumbling in the bathroom to brush their teeth at the same time and lazy kisses (and nothing more) on Nino’s bed, Ohno had let Nino cuddle with him. It’s nice being able to cling to Ohno like an octopus this close and off-camera.

“Ah… so how will we get to this?” Ohno asks, lacing his fingers with Nino’s. A small gesture to show comfort.

Nino never stumbles on his words or let his nerves influence how he speaks — until now. The general outline for what he wants to say is in his head, but he knows throughout the process of the transfer towards actually vocalising it, he’ll fuck up. How would there be an easy, un-awkward way to kick-start the beginning of their porno-equivalent sexual adventures? How the hell did Jun manage to always negotiate kink and safewords without making it seem like a public service announcement on safe sex?

Ohno’s hand squeezes his. “Kazu?” he says, tender. Not Nino. Kazu. It’s another small gesture, one that could be meaningless to others, but to Nino, it’s so, so much more. 

“We need a better safeword first, since we don’t… really engage in anything physical that requires it, unlike, well, you know who,” Nino says. He’s been thinking about it for a while, coming up with possibilities and choices and the pros and cons, channelling his inner Do-S Matsujun. “Just saying, ’Stop!’ or our normal safeword wouldn’t work, wouldn’t it?”

An affirmative nod in response. “What about the one you use with Jun-kun? WiiU?” Ohno suggests, craning his neck with an audible pop. He’s still holding Nino’s hand, keeping him steady.

“Ours is WiiU, Jun-kun’s one is PS3, Oh-chan. WiiU is something entirely different.”

Nino watches as Ohno’s brows furrow, most likely trying to find the difference between the two consoles. It eases the churning feeling in his gut, however, and Nino can’t help but fucking silently ponder how does Ohno do that so perfectly. “We need something if I can’t speak, though. Like, if you—no, if Aiba gags me or something.”

“Can’t you just hum a song, like… Bazuri or Disco Star? We’d catch on it quicker, gagged or not.”

Ohno does it again. He tugs at the disgusting feeling inside his ribcage, lovingly unknots it from everything else Nino has just by a few words, a few gestures. Nino laughs lightly, and Ohno only tilts his head, and Nino laughs louder as he realises Ohno is 100% serious.

“You’ve been hanging out with Aiba too much,” Nino points out, shoulders shaking, holding onto Ohno’s hand tighter. The older man just shrugs, as if he were suggesting something that was perfectly logical. “Those won’t work, I think. If J found out that was our safeword, he’d gut us, you know. Don’t you have one with him, too? And Sho-chan?”

“Red. Totoro.” Ohno pauses, looking thoughtful. “If Sho-kun can’t speak, he pinches me.”

“Pinching won’t work if you try to hold me down or restrict me, you know,” Nino contradicts, enjoying the way Ohno tilts his head to the side a little, blinking. “But, I can probably snap my fingers if you—if you and Aiba go too far. I can also hold something, but I don’t know if it’d be as noticeable as this.” He snaps. “See?”

Ohno makes a grunt of affirmation. “Pinching is confusing anyways. Jun-kun pinches me, too. Not to stop.”

“I need a clear answer, Oh-chan,” Nino says, huffing. He doesn’t let go of Ohno’s hand as he brings it to his chest, curling up into it. “You can stop if it gets too much for you, too. Don’t just focus on me for once, okay?”

“M’kay,” Ohno says. Nino raises a brow and Ohno just juts his lower lip out, his grip on Nino’s hand loosening. “To both questions. Okay,” he clarifies.

They go silent for a moment.

But that moment is all it needs for Nino to hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ribcage, the tense feeling reforming into an amalgamation of negativity at the pit of his chest. It’s the same fucking feeling that grabbed him by the gut, the same emotions that made Nino want to curl up and disappear.

This close, can Ohno feel the way Nino feels like gagging on air? Can he sense the way Nino trembles as he holds onto Ohno’s hand tighter? Can he notice the way Nino feels so, so unclean from how he’s trying to convince himself he isn’t as wretched as everyone el—

A hand holds his fringe up. It pulls Nino out, and Nino feels like he’s been dragged out of water. 

“Don’t like it when you’re like this,” Ohno murmurs, pressing a kiss to Nino’s forehead.

Nino pulls Ohno closer to his body, using both hands to hold onto Ohno’s. Ohno’s too kind to him. Too sweet. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid Oh-chan,” he curses, ignoring the way his voice wavers. “I hate you. You’re stupid. Stupid.”

Ohno chuckles, leans in for another kiss, and Nino returns it with unease. 

*

The ones with the biggest gaps in personalities when it comes to sex is Sho.

Nino supposes it was to be expected; Sho’s always had that rebellious streak as a kid, with his dyed hair, gaudy American pop music and attitude. He just didn’t expect for it to pull over into Sho’s current years, beneath the layers of what people declare the perfect type of man in a relationship.

He learns of Sho’s unexpected side one evening when he’s twenty, caught in a whirlwind of beer and fluttering feelings towards every member in the group. That night, Nino had kissed Sho and it had felt like all his problems would fade away with how Sho was so languid, so gentle with him like Nino were to dissolve if he moved in one wrong way — then, Sho would become a whirlwind of force, lips meeting teeth and tongue.

Only Arashi’s seen this side of Sho — Nino gets to see how Sho’s all vigor and energy in bed, then apologies and worried frowns later. Never-ending heat and a tight grip on Nino’s hips, then chocolate-covered almonds and an arm around Nino’s waist. Pent up energy had been Jun’s assumption, lost under stacks of papers and late-night recordings. It’s as if it’s some sort of detail about Sho no one else knows, and no one else is allowed to find about.

And if there’s anything Nino loves more than secrets, it’s a good one.

Today, he’s invited himself over to Sho’s place, even when Sho had protested and said he was busy trying to memorise scripts. A little white lie that was more truthfulness than lie — “I just miss being in your presence, okay? I miss you.” — was all it took for Sho to relent (after all, he was still the sap who adored and valued romance), unlocking the door and letting Nino slip into Sho’s grand, grand house.

Nino finds himself settling between Sho’s legs on the floor while Sho’s rereading his scripts. It’s a miracle how Sho always manages to push through without complaining about how his scripts are thicker than textbooks in school. There’s not much going on other than the occasional murmur from Sho, trying to test how the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease.

Then, just like all the other times his brain comes up with some sort of wonderous concoction, he has an idea.

He turns his body around so he’s facing Sho’s crotch, hidden away under sweatpants. From down here, Nino can admire Sho’s arms in his undershirt and the small gap of a toned stomach exposed. Sho doesn’t seem to notice, though, so Nino places his hand lightly on the inside of Sho’s thigh, watching it tense underneath his touch. 

Sho doesn’t look away from his papers, but Nino knows Sho isn’t stupid enough to not know what’s going to happen.

“Sho-chan,” Nino croons. 

Sho doesn’t budge. “I’m busy.”

Huffing in disappointment, Nino tilts his head and rests it on Sho’s other thigh. “Sho-chan’s so mean to me lately,” he says, inching his hand up Sho’s thigh, slowly and steady. He doesn’t try to hide his intentions as he cups Sho’s dick through fabric and looks back up at him, pouting. “He doesn’t pay attention to me anymore.”

“Go find Aiba,” says Sho. It’s obvious he’s trying to keep himself composed. “I’m sure he’ll do you anywhere, anytime.”

“Aiba isn’t you, though,” Nino says, amused. He starts stroking Sho’s dick, soft and steady in the way he knows will drive Sho crazy. 

After all, Nino’s had a lot of experience with the way Sho’s body works. It doesn’t take long before Nino finds several moments to mess with Sho. Running his hands under Sho’s undershirt, pressing against a stomach Nino’s admired for so long; looking up from below, letting his tongue show behind teeth; touching his own nipples under his sweater, not even trying to hide how he keens and gasps.

Sure enough, Sho grabs him by the hair and yanks his head up.

Nino smiles coyly. “Can I be of service?” he sing-songs.

“Get me off,” Sho orders in the baritone that swallows Nino whole, eyes fixed on Nino and only Nino. If he were barely twenty once more, he would’ve came in his pants just then. “You started it, you’re ending it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers, hoping his voice isn’t as taut as it sounds to his ears.

It doesn’t take long before Sho lifts his waist — god, his fucking stomach is right in plain view, and Nino can almost imagine the tiny silver piercing on his navel — and shucks his clothing off, as well as his boxers. Nino readjusts his position, knowing fully well his knees will hurt and ache and be a bitch for the rest of the day if he sits like this.

Sho’s dick is perfect, if Nino’s vulgarly honest. Nothing could compare to when they were younger and having quickies in an NTV bathroom stall, Nino’s body being cramped against the door as Sho fucked into him fast and hard enough to get both of them to come before they had their manager looking for them. Or, if they were in a more sanitary place, Nino would get on his knees and lap at Sho’s cock all kittenish, always nervous about doing it right, making Sho feel good when he was younger — now though, Nino has experience.

He brings Sho’s cock to his mouth, licking a broad stripe from the base to the tip. Nino doesn’t break eye contact as he takes the head into his mouth, sucking and lapping at the underside, keeping his focus on the grunts that leave Sho’s soft lips like a rhythm. 

Nino moves down, letting Sho’s girth stretch around his lips, because he knows damn well Sho’s got a thing for his lips, for his mouth. It’s evident in the way Sho’s eyes darken and a hand finds its way in Nino’s hair, fingers entangling in a mess of black as Nino attempts to get Sho’s cock to the back of his throat. His gag reflex already makes him want to spit away, yet Sho’s firm grip holds him steady, encourages him wordlessly.

The thing is, he’s never been good at deepthroating; everyone knows. 

He can’t suck cock like Ohno seamlessly can, like it’s some high-class lollipop, he can’t bring their cock all the way into his throat and pull back and say, “Yum,” since Nino does gag — a lot — unlike Ohno, whose passiveness brings a whole new level to sex. It’s only natural for Nino to start feeling lightheaded.

When Sho’s cock is barely at the back of Nino’s mouth, this is when Nino starts feeling his eyes prick with tears and chest swell. Sho’s looking down at him, making Nino feel tiny, smaller than he actually is, and it serves as fuel to want to make Sho feel good, to make Sho moan.

He doesn’t expect it when Sho’s grip tightens and pulls his head down.

“Too slow,” Sho says, voice unbearably cruel. Nino feels himself sputtering around Sho’s cock, choking and trying to push away by keeping his palms on Sho’s thighs — but Sho’s the one who goes to the gym, Sho’s the one who does weights, Sho’s the one with the muscles that sometimes weren’t for show.

His grip is akin to iron as Sho pulls back Nino’s head, just far back enough for the tip to rest against Nino’s tongue. Nino feels his own spit dripping down his lips as he gasps for air and so, so dizzy. Only Sho can make him feel like choking on cock is a silent praise.

Nino can’t really say much with the head of Sho’s dick laying on his tongue, so he looks up, lets his eyes show how much he loves this side of Sho, of how much Nino wants it — and when Sho responds with a tilt of a head, Nino tries to lean forward, get more of Sho’s cock in his mouth, even when Sho’s grip in his hair is almost painful.

It conveys, and Nino knows by the way Sho murmurs, “Good boy.” Sho loosens his grip and smiles that perfect, guileless smile he shows on TV. The kind that makes people scream and coo about how reliable, how perfect he is, how kind he is.

If only they could see him now.

Nino goes at it enthusiastically, more so to avoid Sho wrecking his throat rather than actual enthusiasm. He uses his fingers on the bits Nino’s mouth can’t reach, feeling the thrill rise in his blood, knowing that Sho could fuck his mouth any moment, any second.

He shifts on his knees as he pulls back up to suck at the head, pressing his tongue against the side. He’s careful not to use teeth.

Above him, Sho’s hissing and holding in moans. “Good boy,” is the only coherent thing Nino can make out, the words sounding more and more derogatory than praise with each bob of Nino’s head. The hand in his hair tightens when Nino goes too far on accident — and brings his head back down.

Nino can feel reflexive tears in his eyes once more. The taste of Sho gets heavier in his mouth the longer Sho’s hold keeps his head in place, and he feels his spit all over his overworked lips once more. If he digs his nails into Sho’s thighs, hard enough to leave red, crescent-shaped marks, maybe he’d stop and pull out —

But he doesn’t want Sho to stop, he realises. 

He relaxes his throat and flattens his tongue, letting Sho’s dick ease into his mouth easier. Sho seems to catch on: he starts lifting his lips, fucking Nino’s mouth. It’s an onslaught of sensations and Nino’s sure he’s going to have to come up with a white lie explaining his sore throat tomorrow, but Nino doesn’t hate it — his erection, hot and heavy and trapped in his underwear is the proof of it.

One of his favourite things about Sho has always been his voice. And right now, all the deep groans, all the mumbled praise, they all straight through his ears, down to his groin. For every “Good boy,” Sho hisses out, Nino moans around his cock, a pitiful attempt at saying Sho’s name.

Sho’s grip on his hair tightens, awfully painful, and Nino doesn’t see it coming when Sho raises his hips high enough for Nino’s nose to dig into coarse hair, Sho’s release sliding down his throat offbeat.

Nino pushes himself away with enough force for it to hurt when he lands on his ass. His mouth is filled with nothing but the taste of Sho, and it’s dizzyingly such a good addition to the fantasy of his mouth being Sho’s to use, Sho’s plaything.

Not that he could tell him, of course.

It takes a moment of heavy breathing before Sho’s common sense snaps back. With wide eyes, he gets off the couch and crouches next to Nino.

“Fuck, please don’t tell me I actually hurt you,” Sho says worriedly, hands resting at Nino’s throat. His touch is delicate, as if one wrong move would shatter Nino. 

“Ninomiya Kazunari, thirty-six, dies of choking to death on cock,” Nino manages to joke, albeit with a taut voice. He was going to need to consult Jun for whatever he made him drink when he’d suck Jun off.

Sho frowns, not finding Nino’s joke particularly funny. Well, Sho’s always been hard to please unless there was food. And traveling. And soccer. And biting the insides of his thighs — okay, Sho was easy to please, but not right now.

“Nino —” 

Nino presses a finger to Sho’s lips and shushes him. “If you get me off, everything will be fine. If you don’t, I’ve already planned seventy-four ways to ruin your life.”

Sho blinks, then his frown deepens so much Nino can’t take him seriously. “I… I’m sorry,” he says, and Nino realises he will probably be apologising for the next few weeks straight. “Let’s get you to the bed.”

Nino hisses as he feels Sho slink his arm over Sho’s shoulders, helping him up. He was right: his knees are numb, and he’s sure his ankles will cause several missteps throughout the rest of the day and the next. They nearly stumble in the doorway, but Sho’s quick to catch him, like a perfect prince charming who had been face-fucking Nino to asphyxiation five minutes ago.

Five minutes later, he has Sho on top of him, Sho’s knees slotted against his thighs to keep them from spreading too far; Sho’s hand works in quick strokes on his cock, each pulling a moan out of Nino’s sore lips.

When Sho flicks his wrist on an upstroke, Nino gasps and digs his fingernails into the mattress. “I’m — Sho-chan, I’m going to—”

Sho presses a kiss to his temple, then moves down to Nino’s ear. “Come for me,” Sho says in a baritone that has Nino biting on his lip to keep quiet. “Show me, show me that you can follow orders.”

There’s too many fantasies in his head for Nino to pick, not especially when Sho was jerking him off hard enough for him to turn mindless. He manages to settle for this specific one: Sho breaking him, going far enough to the point Nino can't beg him to stop, and is nothing but an object to use for his pleasure, to be treated like plaything.

He comes hard with Sho’s name on his tongue.

His head feels runny and his skin sticks uncomfortably onto the sheets. Nino’s vaguely aware of Sho reaching over besides him for some tissues, but anything else is drowned out by the buzz in his ears and his attempts at regaining his breath. He feels his cock being tucked back into his briefs gingerly.

Besides him, the mattress dents and an arm is wrapped around his stomach.

“You came quicker than usual,” Sho comments, nosing his face into Nino's damp neck.

Nino huffs a curse, peeling away Sho's arm from his body. He feels too sticky to stay here, yet too lethargic to get up. “Do you time our sexual activities with a stopwatch?” 

He gets flicked on the forehead for that.

“If I did, would you ask for statistics? Average amount of minutes before Satoshi-kun comes?” Sho tugs at Nino's cheek and looks him in the eye. “What were you thinking of, anyways?”

In his post-orgasm haze, Nino blurts out, “You, having your way with me.”

And he fucking regrets it.

Sho goes wide-eyed, rolling back abruptly. There are words in his eyes, words that Nino doesn't have to hear to know what he means. Nino knows that look, knows what the hesitance means, and he hates it.

Lethargy doesn't stop him, not when disgust overrules it; he pushes himself off the bed, trying not to show how his arms tremble. He can feel Sho's stare burn holes in him, leaving them to melt. Nino doesn't hear any footsteps as he grabs a medical mask from Sho's stash, nor does he hear Sho's voice as he's adjusting a cap on his head.

No one follows him when he locks Sho's door, when he takes the elevator down, when he gets into his car. Nino doesn't know exactly what he feels, but he knows he hates it, hates how it manages to dig its way inside him.

Then, he feels himself break a little. A touch of hysteria. It was bound to happen, Nino thinks. Everything was going too well for something not to fuck up. He should've kept it to Ohno and Ohno only, or better yet, kept quiet.

Nino laughs at himself.

*

He feels bad he's using the other three as some sort of escape from Sho.

Then again, Sho seems more busier than ever. He'd taken up once again another large project, one that barely made any spare time for any of them to slot into perfectly. Whether it's on purpose or not, Nino doesn't know — and he doesn't want to find out. 

Sho doesn't tell anyone. Neither does Nino.

Not even Aiba, not even Ohno, not even Jun. Sho's been trying to keep them out of the loop with silly antics on set, avoiding showing the apprehensiveness he has around Nino. It's doing so, so well, Nino thinks, and maybe it's because they're so used to it that Sho's doing such a great job at masking it. Not even Jun questions them.

While Sho distracts himself with work, work isn't enough for Nino to be satiated. Even when he's laughing with a hand over his mouth, he can't help but remember how he'd fucked up. Even as they record Small Ambition and Nino is trying to figure out how to defeat the professional, he thinks of how hard it had hit him, how sick of his own body he felt in his car.

He turns to sex. Nino finds ways to distract himself with the others, often enough for him to forget what had happened, even temporarily. At this point, he's desperate enough for anything, any few seconds of temporary ignorance. A hard kiss from Jun, Ohno's nimble fingers in him, Aiba's body on top of him; they work, they help him keep his mind at bay.

And one day, they no longer keep the thoughts at bay.

Aiba's messages do nothing but leave a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Ohno's porn links do nothing but remind him that he could've stopped it then, on the couch with Ohno, but hadn't. Jun's kisses start feeling disgusting against his skin. He throws his and Ohno's planned scheme to the side, avoids talking to Aiba whenever Aiba wants a threesome with him and Ohno. He doesn't realise when it happens exactly, but he knows, he definitely fucking knows that it's all his head’s fault.

He'd never found a reason to hate sex before. Now he does.

Slowly, Nino finds himself spending more hours on games rather than with them. Instead of Aiba's mouth on his cock, he plays on his DS until his eyes feel painful. Instead of Jun grinning against his neck whilst thrusting into him, Nino plugs his laptop in and plays whatever games he has installed and stays hunched over for hours straight.

It's expected enough of him that it doesn't get questioned. “Well, I haven't seen Nino lately,” Ohno would mumble during their opening talk on VS, and Aiba would back up his statement with whatever incomprehensible thing he chooses to say. With a smile he's perfected over the years, he'll reply with, “I've been finding myself replaying old video games a lot, often for hours straight,” and then Jun would take over, bringing the topic towards his experience with Nino's gaming marathons.

It's easier like this. Easier for him, easier for them.

Their relationship goes all ways, after all. It doesn't always have to include him.

*

At 11:57 at night, Nino’s phone pings with notifications. An endless ding, ding, ding, ding that awakens Nino from slumber. When Nino reaches for it from the bedside table, he scowls, turns off notifications and goes back to sleep.

 **manager** : What’s this about?  
 **manager** : Embed link: Sakurai Sho & Ninomiya Kazunari drifting apart? Or is there a possible fight behind their false friendship? Read More…  
 **manager** : Ninomiya-san, if the fans are noticing, it’s going to be an issue. A very big one.  
 **manager** : I hope you two will be able to resolve this before I will have to set up a meeting with PR.

*

At 10:28 in the next morning, Nino’s phone rings just as he’s out of the shower.

He pads out from the bathroom in swift steps, across the living room to where he left his phone on the couch. Nino picks up his phone, careful not to get it wet, and swipes to accept the call as soon as he reads the contact name.

“Are you okay?” Jun asks first, like always. A trait Nino’s grown used to having in his life.

“Yeah,” Nino answers, tiptoeing towards his bedroom. He must’ve gotten a text from Arashi’s manager as well. “What’s up?”

He sets his phone on speaker mode and leaves it on his desk, then starts shifting through the clothes in his closet. Nino manages to find one of Ohno’s t-shirts hung up on a rack with his, and tosses it on the bed with a soft thump.

As he’s putting on boxers, belatedly, Nino realises something is very, very wrong. Jun hasn’t said anything after Nino had spoke.

“Did you fall asleep on me?” Nino asks, quickly throwing on Ohno’s shirt and sits on the bed. There’s this tense instinct in him, crawling on his skin. He doesn’t like it.

Jun audibly clears his throat; it makes the anxiety in Nino thrive.

“Sho told me what happened between you two a while ago,” Jun states. “And Ohno let something about your super-duper secret group chat excluding me and Sho spill out. He’s a bad drunk.”

Nino’s heart drops, forcing him down with weight. 

No, no, no, no, nonononono. He must be dreaming, he must be hallucinating, he must be going insane —

“No matter how forever-seventeen you look, did you really have to act like a child about this?”

It’s poised as something Nino’s not a stranger to. Hearing it from strangers, from kids back in elementary, he couldn’t care less — but from Jun, who he held dear to him even through feigned banter and incessant nicknames, it breaks something in him.

“Fuck you,” Nino finds himself spitting out. His voice sounds scathing to his own ears. “Fuck you. I’m not being childish, Jun. I was never.”

“Are you? You spent approximately four months holding back a ridiculous secret from me and Sho, and had Aiba-kun and Ohno not say a word about it.”

“Them keeping quiet was their own choic—”

Jun continues, nonchalant, as if he weren’t fucking digging blades into Nino’s heart. “I’m not judging what you like, Kazu. I’m just mad that you didn’t have enough faith in me or Sho, but had them in Aiba and Ohno. You didn’t try fixing it with Sho, and had let it shown.”

He doesn’t like this feeling. He doesn’t like how calm Jun is about this, how he’d prefer Jun to be here physically, shouting at him and throwing him down on the floor — Nino’s used to that, he’s used to people getting infuriated, livid at him and taking it out on him.

But not when it’s a peaceful type of anger.

“You weren’t there when you saw the look on his face!” Nino hisses, remembering: Sho reeling back, eyes widening, hands pulling away from his skin. He doesn’t want to remember it. He wants to forget how sick of himself he felt. “If you’d experienced it while you ’fessed up that you liked seeing people tied up and crying for you, you’d feel like shit. Garbage. You wouldn’t fucking know how it felt.”

A pause. 

Long enough for Nino’s words to settle, to make him wonder if this was how he’d single-handedly destroy Arashi’s easy-going camaraderie dynamic. It took long enough, he thinks bitterly. All his fault.

Jun sighs softly, barely audible to be picked up over the phone. 

“I know what it’s like, Nino. You think I don’t feel bad every time I’m rough with you? You don’t think Sho feels bad? What about Aiba, when he makes you cry?”

No, because being rough is different from what he likes, Nino wants to say. There’s consent in roughness, but in Nino’s fantasies, the concept of consent is destroyed and battered.

“Consent is everything to you, Jun,” Nino says, quieter. He brings his knees up to his chest, holds them tight. “I didn’t think I could tell you. Or Sho. Or anyone. Oh-chan and Aiba—it was all an accident, and I just went with the flow.”

“I see.” 

I see. It’s not an apology, and it’s not anger. 

Nino wonders what’ll happen to him now, what'll happen to them. Either ways, they’d have to smile on camera and hide the apprehensiveness, the tense atmosphere like they’ve always done. They have an image to show off, to sell, to be, and if Nino ruins all their hard work —

The sound of car keys jingling snaps Nino out of his running thoughts.

“May I come over?” Jun asks tentatively, like he’s treading broken porcelain, and Nino hears the sound of a door being locked over the line. “I’m bringing food. I made hamburgers. We’re both going to talk this out before it escalates.”

Nino acquiesces, speaking a small, quiet, “Okay.”

When the line ends, he topples over on his bed and holds his knees tighter to his body. He doesn’t have the energy to push himself back up.

His head hurts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully my [notes](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EWAcc0uUwAA_Myl?format=jpg&name=small) for Chapter 3 will make you feel better.


End file.
